Mysterious Ways
by Jaswinder
Summary: Some people get a voice in a whirlwind. Some people get a wrestling angel. He got Fubuki. [Weird Manjoume fic.]


**Author's Notes:** Easily my worst fic yet. It's not shonen-ai. It's just weird; I'd say it was almost meant to be confusing. I want you, the reader, to come to your own conclusions. As with my last fic, blame the song (U2 - Mysterious Ways). Set after the White Society fiasco.

Edit: Chopped out the inline lyrics as per Silvormoon's suggestion. It probably flows better this way.

**Warnings:** None, really. It's pretty self-evident.

---

_You've been running away  
From what you don't understand;  
Love  
You're sliding down  
Will she be there  
When you hit the ground?  
It's all right, it's all right, all right  
She moves in mysterious ways..._

Manjoume frowned at the setting sun.

The events of the White Organization shook him more than he wanted to admit. He had heard accounts of his behavior while under Saiou's control, and he would have angrily dismissed them if they did not corroborate his own fragmented memories.

It had been so... _easy_.

It was Saiou's powers, he tried to argue. It was the influence of a madman. He had been brainwashed, possessed, controlled against his will. It wasn't like Saiou somehow found a secret weakness in his psyche and exploited it. Nothing that had happened while he was under the freak's control was real. None of it was _him_, and he had hated every minute of it.

Okay, that wasn't true. He had to concede that he liked winning all those duels. It had been nice to have the entire Blue dorm under his heel, even for just a little while. He had been a leader, a proper member of the Manjoume group. He had been _somebody_ again, he had power, he had satisfaction, he had...

He'd had some peace.

Manjoume drew his legs up to meet his chest. The rock he had chosen for his seat wasn't very comfortable, but it had a nice view to the sun-lit ocean.

He didn't understand how that had worked. How had he been so happy dueling for something other than his own personal victory? Why had he wanted to impress Saiou so much? He hadn't been angry, like he was when he tried to impress his brothers. It hadn't been jealous or egotistical, the way it was when he tried to flaunt his skills in front of the Osiris slackers.

When he dueled with the white coat on, every move he made felt pre-determined. He felt larger than himself; no longer like a hapless victim in the flow of destiny, but someone that sailed it knowingly. His victories had been so assured the duels had felt almost pointless, but he still carried out each and everyone out of --

Devotion.

Is that what it was?

Manjoume hated Saiou now. He'd seen the cult leader for what he was and knew the way he'd been controlled went against every fiber in his being. But some small voice in the back of his head said it'd been nice to have someone -- something -- else to live for. Nice to have the responsibility of being the only thing in his life that mattered lifted off his shoulders. His ego wouldn't acknowledge it.

Besides, a darker, louder voice reminded him, it'd all been a lie anyway.

A deep, cheerful voice broke him out of his brooding. "Ah, Manjoume-kun!"

Manjoume closed his eyes and tried to tune out Fubuki. He had suspected the surfer-idol had followed him when he left the dining hall in a huff. He normally didn't mind Fubuki or his antics, but Manjoume wasn't feeling very normal at the moment.

The older boy walked over to him and sat beside him on the rock. Fubuki mimicked his pose, pulling his legs up, but somehow managed to make the pose look playful and lighthearted instead of moody and defensive.

"It's okay, you know."

Manjoume opened his eyes to blink at Fubuki's statement. "You don't even know what's going on."

"Probably not," he grinned and shrugged one shoulder, "Either way, it's okay."

"No, it's not," Manjoume muttered and hugged his knees more tightly. "Nothing that's happened since Saiou came here has been 'okay'."

"But everything's okay now."

"No! I want--" Manjoume wilted slightly, digging his fingers into his hair. "I don't know what I want."

"You want it back."

The younger boy lifted his head. Fubuki was staring out at the ocean, smiling knowingly. "'It'?"

"You know what I'm talking about. I saw you when you were White Thunder. I saw how you were different."

"That wasn't me!"

"Not most of it, no."

"What do you want?"

"There's a balance, you know. It doesn't have to be black or white."

Manjoume scowled. Fubuki usually talked in confusing grandiose tones, but this was enigmatic even for him. "What are you going on about?"

"What Saiou said and did was wrong. He himself was a victim of manipulation, and evil makes evil. But what he _showed_ you--"

Fubuki took this opportunity to sling an arm around Manjoume's hunched shoulders, pulling the smaller boy to his side. Manjoume tensed, bristling with indignation, but Fubuki was heedless. The idol set his hand on Manjoume's chest, just above his heart.

"That was real."

Something in Fubuki's voice was making Manjoume shiver. He couldn't tell if it was the senior's proximity, his tone, or the fact his words seemed to speak to something so private, so deep in Manjoume's psyche, he had no way of knowing it without some sort of supernatural intervention. Fubuki's dark eyes were sparkling with hope and mischief, and their gaze trapped him.

"Are you afraid, Manjoume-kun?"

He was and he had no idea why. Something made him nod fractionally.

"Good," Fubuki grinned, "That's how it starts."

Fubuki pulled away from him abruptly and stood. "There's a very simple principle at work here. See, when you're at the top, there's only one way to look."

"Huh?" Manjoume adjusted his coat, trying to brush away his goose bumps.

"Down." Fubuki emphasized with his index finger, pointing at the sand. "Down at everyone else. Down at the entire world. And since you're looking down, you miss a lot of what's going on. You can't even see what's coming up ahead."

Manjoume snorted. "You're weirder than usual--"

He had no time to finish. Fubuki slapped him on the back so hard he fell knees first into the sand, barely catching himself with his hands. The black-coated boy started to right himself, an angry rant on the tip of his tongue, when Fubuki tugged Manjoume's head back to force him to look upwards.

Manjoume's voiced died in his throat. The beginnings of the most spectacular sunset he had ever seen had been transforming the sky above his head. Towers of clouds looked like a masterful watercolor artist had taken brush to them. Pink swathed them, orange colored them, and they glittered gold. He'd been sitting at the beach for an hour now, and he hadn't even noticed.

"But when you can look up," Fubuki continued, gingerly releasing Manjoume's hair, "See what you can find?"

Manjoume was rattled, but hardly convinced. He shook his head quickly and leapt to his feet before Fubuki had another chance to shove him. "Listen, I don't know what you want or what this has to do with _anything_, but whatever you're selling, keep it--"

"Saiou showed you how to look up."

Those words perplexed Manjoume just enough to quiet him.

"It wasn't for the right reasons, it wasn't in the right ways, but he showed you there were other directions to look in."

A soft wind rushed over the beach and tossed Manjoume's hair. He could hear himself breathing.

"I don't get it."

Fubuki held his chin and pondered. Manjoume watched a grin split the handsome boy's face as he was hit with what could only be a terrible idea.

"Then I'm going to show you something too."

Fubuki's eyes locked onto him and he stalked forward. Manjoume inched away, which exploded into an attempt to get to his feet and run when Fubuki dove at him.

The older boy was bigger and a lot stronger, and Manjoume could do little but writhe, kick the air and shout unintelligible protests. Fubuki ignored it all, scooping Manjoume up in his arms like a bride and laughing.

"Get -- off -- put me down!" Manjoume pounded on Fubuki's shoulder, but the boy carried on -- and carried him -- effortlessly.

Soft splashes made Manjoume realize they were headed into the ocean.

"Gah! What are you doing?"

"Trust, Manjoume," Fubuki's grin became a warm smile, "Try it sometime."

Manjoume stopped thrashing, looking up at him uncertainly.

Fubuki abruptly dropped him in the waist-deep water.

Salt water swirled over Manjoume, tossing his hair and flooding his vision with blurry pain. He tried to kick back to the surface, but he found he couldn't.

Fubuki _hadn't_ let him go. The idol, the surfer, the closest thing Manjoume had to a real friend on the island was actively holding him down under the water.

Horror, rage, betrayal, panic -- just about everything Manjoume had ever felt started to rise up and threatened to engulf him more completely than the sea. But before it could all crash down, before he could start kicking for his life and trying to wrestle out of Fubuki's grip, before he could start shouting and screaming under water, a quiet thought crept into the front of his mind.

_Trust, Manjoume. Try it sometime.  
_  
So he closed his eyes, and tried.

---

When Manjoume opened them again, he was staring up at the night.

He was laid out on the beach, waves lapping at his soggy shoes. Sand clung to every inch of his wet clothes and hair, and he sputtered, trying to shake his sticky bangs out of his face.

Fubuki was nowhere to be seen. Manjoume scowled deeply and picked himself up, shoving as much sand off of his sleeves as he could.

The Red dorm wasn't too far, and he refused to stay in these wet clothes a minute longer. Besides, he suspected that's where he would find Fubuki again, and was _not_ going to let an attempt at drowning him go by lightly.

He stormed the entire way. He was seething by the time he gripped the doorknob to the main mess hall, and he flung it open.

Juudai, Asuka, and everyone else eating and lounging paused to stare at him. Just as he had predicted, Fubuki was there, and had moved on to trying to convince Asuka to come back to Blue with a cardboard cut out of her in an even _tackier_ dress.

"You!" Manjoume snarled, stabbing his finger in Fubuki's direction and catching the older boy off guard. The motion flung water on the floor.

"I don't believe you! Why did you do that?" Manjoume balled his hands into fists and started forward. Fubuki paled slightly and backed away, waving his hands and feigning innocence.

"What'd I do?"

"_This!_" Manjoume swept his soaking bangs out of his face with a violent flick of his hand. "You dunked me in the freakin' ocean for no reason!"

Fubuki's look of faux innocence became one of honest confusion, and it spread to the faces of everyone else in the room.

Manjoume bristled. "What? Are you going to try and deny it? I should--"

"Uh, Manjoume," Juudai interrupted.

"San DA!"

"San _da_," Juudai mumbled and shook his head, "Fubuki's been here the entire time. He hasn't left since you did."

The metaphorical rug was pulled out from under Manjoume's rage, and he blinked. He would've assumed Juudai was being stupid if Asuka, Misawa, and others he considered reasonably intelligent weren't nodding, affirming Juudai's claim.

"Yes!" Fubuki piped up quickly and motioned to his cut-out, "I have very important issues to discuss with Asuka! She needs..."

Whatever he said, Manjoume didn't hear it. The room fell back into normalcy, but no sound reached him.

In the silence, he was surprised to find something.

He had some peace.

_One day you'll look back  
And see where you were held  
How, by this love  
Well, you could stand there  
Or, you could move  
Move on this moment  
Follow this feeling_

_It's all right, it's all right  
Spirit moves in mysterious ways..._


End file.
